


past the bitterness and broken things

by Illmerica



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Non-Canonical Character Death, Spoilers, Temporary Character Death, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 13:04:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11601228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illmerica/pseuds/Illmerica
Summary: It didn't seem to matter what she did—who she killed, who she sacrificed, who she saved, or even how shedied—because Harukawa Maki would always wake up in that same damn classroom to start the worst day of her entire miserable life over again.





	past the bitterness and broken things

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate Title: help i've been in a car for like 25 hours

Harukawa Maki wakes up, curled in an uncomfortable wooden chair behind an old-fashioned school desk. She's stiff and sore, and across the room a small boy has his head pillowed in his arms. His hair is purple, his school uniform is black, and what she can see of his expression is twisted in discomfort.

Harukawa pulls herself from her chair, joints popping with each movement, and crosses the room to shake him awake. His head shoots up the moment her hand touches his shoulder, and he looks at her with wide eyes.

“Erm.” He says. “H-Hi.”

Harukawa raises an eyebrow at him, but the corner of her mouth quirks up. “Hey.” She replies. “Do you have any idea where we are?”

His eyes dip down, like he isn't sure he wants to hold eye contact any longer, and he shrugs.

“Well, I think we should go outside and look around. More people might be nearby.” Harukawa pulls him out of his chair before he can offer his opinion on the idea. He lets her. “Harukawa Maki.” She introduces.

The other keeps his gaze on the ground. “O-Oh. Mine, uhm, my name i-is Ouma Kokichi.”

He holds his hand out to shake, rethinks the action, then retracts to awkwardly brush his palms against the pant of his uniform instead.

Harukawa snorts, rolling her eyes and walking to the door. “C’mon. Let's go.”

The walk is almost silent, aside from the metal screeches in the distance. Ouma doesn't seem like he's the social type—or even the 'interact with other human beings on a regular basis’ type—but he hovers as close to her as he can. From the corner of her eye, Harukawa can see him flinch with each distant sound. It’s pure stubbornness that stops her from doing the same, but she knows just how he feels. She speeds up so they can move just a little bit further from the  _whatever_   _the hell that is_  just a little bit faster.

Just as the two of them reached a hall with a set of double doors labeled ‘Auditorium’ at the end of it, the ominus quiet is broken with a loud crash and a scream. Ouma replicates the sound and grabs Harukawa's hand, sprinting down the remainder of the corridor while dragging her behind him. He throws open the door and then throws them inside it.

A little over ten people turn to look at them after their abrupt entrance; Harukawa waves, Ouma flushes and slinks behind her. It takes a moment for him to realize he still has her hand, which only manages to make him fade paler. He lets go like she'd somehow burned him and wipes his hand on his pants again. Harukawa does her best to ignore it.

“Oi! You get chased by those creeps too?” A girl with brunette twintails calls from the back of the room.

Harukawa raises an eyebrow. “Creeps?”

“C _-Chased_?” Ouma panics.

“Yeah! Those giant metal fuckers?” One of the other students interjects from the other side, the tallest and most muscled in the room. He scowls. “I woulda took 'em out, but that little pansy bitch made us run instead!”

Another teenager, his white hair tucked under a cap, bristles. “Just because I didn't want to  _die_ doesn't make me a, a...” He huffs and crosses his arms.

“We didn't see anything like that, but we heard some weird noises.” Harukawa explains to the general room. “There was a scream though, not too far from us. Sounded like it was another girl.”

A blond boy looks over the gathered teenagers with a thoughtful frown. “That would be about right.”

Harukawa opens her mouth to ask what that was supposed to mean, but before she can two more students burst into the auditorium. They're panting and sweating, leaned against each other as if they'd faced Death itself. The conversation cycles back to the giant metal monsters that lurk out in the halls and Harukawa lets herself get lost in the mass of people as they talked.

Then five color-coded bears appear.

Then a monochrome one.

The world explodes into bright lights and colors, then fades out altogether.

 

 

 

 

Harukawa Maki—the Super High School Level Assassin—wakes up, curled in an uncomfortable wooden chair behind an old-fashioned school desk. She's stiff and sore, and across the room a small boy is sprawled across his own desk. His hair is purple, his clothes are white, and his head is lolled to the side while he snores with his mouth open.

Obnoxious.

Harukawa leaves him in the room without a second thought. She doesn't know who he is, and she can't say she cares much. All she knows is that he isn't her problem.

The hallways are full of overgrown plants and ominous mechanical noises in the distance, but Harukawa doesn't pay them any mind. If anything came for her, she'd just kill it before it could kill her. She always keeps a knife hidden in her skirt, after all.

After some directionless wandering through the halls, she ends up in what looks like a rundown auditorium. Ten or so other people had already found their way there, some more flustered than others. Most of the group had gathered themselves around the room in useless and panicked conversation, with a select few as silent outliers. Harukawa keeps her distance from them, brushing off the numerous attempts at a conversation and keeping herself to the outskirts of the group.

She doesn't know these people. What the hell would she want to  _talk_ to them for?

The last to arrive is the boy that had been in the classroom with her and, soon after, a pair of students that seem determined to hang off each other. The group breaks out into even more confused theories at their appearance, their desperation almost as annoying as it was loud.

Then five color-coded bears appear.

Then a monochrome one.

So it's a Killing Game in exchange for freedom?  _Well then_ , Harukawa thinks,  _Fine_.

 

 

Harukawa's vibrant red gaze sweeps over the two. “Harukawa Maki, Super High School Level Child Caregiver.” She lies.

After Monokuma’s announcement, she knew that she couldn't have introduced herself as an  _Assassin_ of all things. It wasn't the best fake talent she could've settled on, but it wasn't one that she would ever need to prove or use while she was there. It’s not like there were kids were running around a prison school, after all. Harukawa assumed Monokuma wouldn't call her out on it anytime soon; it was obvious that he knew the truth if the bolded  **SHSL ASSASSIN**  in her Student Handbook was anything to go off of, but he didn't seem to care if she told the others or not.

And she didn't plan to, not if she could help it. It wasn't any of their business.

“My name is Akamatsu Kaede.” She chirps, still relatively upbeat despite the circumstances. “I’m the Super High School Level Pianist! This is Saihara-kun.”

The other fiddles with the brim of his hat. “Y-Yeah.” He agrees. “Saihara Shuuichi. I'm the, uhm.” Saihara keeps his attention on the ground then, after a moment says. “Super High School Level Detective.”

“Really, now.” Harukawa raises an eyebrow. “I'll keep that in mind.”

Saihara braves eye contact and blinks up at her with his large champagne eyes. “Oh, uhm.” He studies her face, before ducking back under the cover of his hat. “Alright.”

Akamatsu glances between them, her expression saying that she knew she'd just missed something important. It’s mere seconds before her expression shifts to discomfort, but nothing Harukawa hasn’t seen before. She takes a hold of Saihara's arm and starts to lead him further down the hall where Harukawa knows other students are still scattered around in search of an exit.

“We'll see you around, Harukawa-san!” Akamatsu offers with a nervous smile.

“I'm sure you will.” Harukawa agrees.

 

 

An entire day before the first motive is supposed to be offered, Saihara Shuuichi is found in his dorm room with a slit throat.

 

 

Harukawa wasn't sure what she had expected from the 'Class Trial’ but, somehow, it had exceeded any expectations she might’ve had.

After all, Harukawa thought they'd debate it for half an hour at most then give up and vote themselves to an early grave.

It hadn't been anything personal. Saihara  _must_ have understood he was the obvious choice for a victim, a physically weak target that had the largest chance of puzzling through a murder. It made her wonder why he'd been idiotic enough to let her in his dorm room in the middle of the night, but she didn't give it much thought. Harukawa was never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Akamatsu had done her best to lead the investigation and trial through her obvious grief, with Amami right behind her. Still, despite their efforts, it seemed that the group had begun to realize how much of a lost cause it was.

Not that Harukawa was surprised. The combination of her experience in untraceable murders and the blantant lack of a knowledgeable investigator among the group left them helpless — that had been her plan, after all. All Harukawa had to do was wait for them to give up and Monokuma to announce the vote, and she'd be free from this ridiculous hellscape.

“ _Hmm_. Monokuma?” Ouma calls, almost in a sing-song. He glances over at the bear, full of false innocence. “I can ask you questions, can't I?”

Akamatsu frowns, face still a blotched red from the occasional breakdown into tears. “Ouma-kun.” Her sigh is tired, half-hearted at best. “All you've done so far is just accuse random people. Please. Give it a rest.”

Ouma pouts. “I'm trying to help solve Saihara-chan’s murder, just like everyone else!”

“Well you ain't helpin’ anyone, so knock it the fuck off!” Momota snaps.

“Calm down, Momota. No one needs to get aggressive here.” Amami says soothingly, and Momota huffs in response.

“Yeah... I'm too tired for everyone to start yelling like that...” Yumeno leans against her stand, cheek rested against her propped up hand.

“Well...” Kiibo trails off, before he straightens and continues. “If he has a serious question, then he should ask it. It might help us!”

“Angie doubts it!” She giggles.

Toujou shakes her head, lips pressed into a thin line. “I don't see how it could hurt. It's not as if we have many other ideas left.” She says. “It feels as if we've just talked ourselves in circles at this point.”

“It's just an innocent little question!” Ouma whines and tears fill his eyes. “Everyone’s being such bullies!”

Harukawa scowls. “That's probably because no one wants to deal with you.” She isn't in the mood for this, not when she’s  _so close_.

Ouma sniffles.

Akamatsu sighs again, rubbing her temples and wiping residual wetness out from under her eyes. Amami frowns at her with blatant sympathy in his expression, head tilted and eyebrows drawn.

He looks over at Ouma. “Just ask.”

The change is instant; Ouma perks up like a child who's been promised a treat for good behavior. He turns to Monokuma and grins, but within seconds his bright expression melts into something far darker. Not quite devious, but  _malicious_. A bad feeling settles in Harukawa's stomach at his face, near instinctual. She keeps her face as impassive as possible.

Ouma leans forward, hands clasped behind his back. “Is it possible that someone’s been lying to us about their talent?”

Harukawa almost screams.

“Lying?” Gokuhara tilts his head like a curious dog might. He hasn’t contributed much to the conversation aside from the occasional confused repeat of someone’s statement, but that wasn’t unexpected. Gokuhara didn’t seem like the  _thinking_ type. “Gonta doesn't understand. He doesn’t know why anyone would want to lie about their talent.”

“A better question is what would that have to do with the murder.” Hoshi mutters.

Ouma beams, the ominous aura gone, and Harukawa wishes she could reach out and wring his neck. “I don't want to name any names! It's just that I'm a liar, so I notice when other people lie too.”

Hoshi rolls his eyes. “That didn't answer anything.”

“Yeah! Give us one reason to believe your shota ass!” Iruma growls. “You've bullshited us for the past two hours straight!”

He holds up a finger. “I wasn't asking the pig.” Ouma says. “I was asking the bear.”

Iruma recoils. “I-I’m  _not—_ ”

“What a good question!” Monokuma interrupts. “Though, I don't know if I want to spoil the twist and answer it  _now_. That wasn't supposed to be for another couple murders!”

“So there  _is_ a liar then.” Shinguuji hums in thought.

Harukawa’s hands ball themselves into fists as the theory is thrown back and forth, nails digging deep bloodied crescents into her palms. She'll _**kill** him _ for this. She's never been caught before, and  _this_ won't be the case that changed that.  _Ouma_ won't be the person that changed that. There's no way he knows, after all. She hasn't told anyone, even  _alluded_ to her fake talent being anything but real. He doesn't know. He's just bluffing her to reveal herself, and it.  _Won't. Work._

Harukawa takes a breath to steady herself. She can fix this, redirect it.

“If anyone’s lying about their talent, then the culprit is obvious.” Harukawa interjects. She sounds far calmer than she feels, which is good. It wouldn't help to let out the furious scream that's bottled up somewhere deep inside her chest. “After all, there's only one person in this room who claimshe doesn't remember his.”

Attention swivels to Amami in seconds, and he blinks in surprise as if he somehow hadn't expected that.

Ouma's bright grin flickers into sudden blankness.

“Fuck.” Momota says in realization.

“You're lying about your talent!” Chabashira accuses without a moment's hesitation. She throws herself at her lectern to jab a finger in his direction. “ _Menace_!”

Shirogane taps her chin in thought. “Is lying by omission really lying, though?”

“It's not omission if he outright said he doesn't remember it.” Harukawa says. Her hands tremble in furious bone-white fists below the top of her stand, but her voice is still cool. “After all, Amami is the only person who seems to have 'forgotten’ his talent. I would say that's enough to be suspicious.”

Yonaga nods, solemn. “Kami-sama has to agree.” She adds and claps her hands above her head in some odd recreation of a prayer. “Rantaro not knowing his own talent  _is_ strange.”

Akamatsu's frown becomes deeper. “Amami-kun?” She prompts.

His brows furrow. “Well I—” Amami cuts himself off and stares down at his trial stand in thought. “I don't know what to tell everyone, other than that I just don't remember it.”

“That means he did it, right?” Yumeno asks between a yawn. “That we're done?”

“I don't think that's enough for us to vote with just yet.” Kiibo argues.

“It seems that it's all we have, however. The rest of the crime  _was_ rather anonymous.” Shinguuji says. He looks around the circle with a cool expression, unflinchingly meeting everyone's eyes. “Anyone could have gone to Saihara’s dorm at night with a knife, and I'm afraid none of us have true alibis for the time of the murder.”

“I just...” Akamatsu shakes her head. “That isn't enough for us to vote with. Amami-kun is suspicious, but that doesn't mean he murdered—” She makes a sound as if she’s been choked, and clears her throat. “—someone.” She finishes, voice far weaker than it had been, and glances off to the side in something like embarrassment.

“Who else would lie about their talent?” Shirogane questions. “No one else's stands out like his does.”

Hoshi shrugs. “Ouma's is pretty damn weird if you ask me.”

Harukawa’s eyes snap to Ouma at that. He seemed to have entirely disregarded the conversation that  _he_  started, with his Student Handbook booted up and balanced on the edge of his lectern as he scrolled. Not even the point blank mention of his name was enough to make him pay attention again and, with another glance around the room, Harukawa knows she isn’t the only person who’d noticed. Akamatsu sighs and shakes her head, while Momota glares at him.

He’s planning to do something, Harukawa could feel it.

She isn’t sure if he  _knows_ it was her who killed Saihara, but she’s sure that he has enough of an idea. That’s the only explanation for how he’s tried to reveal her, or even  _why_ he’s tried to reveal her. For all intents and purposes, it had been an untraceable murder. Harukawa’s been an assassin long enough to know how to not only  _cover_ her tracks, but how not to leave tracks in the first place. She doesn’t know what he knows or how he knows it, but she does know that it’s started to  _piss her off_.

Still. She hopes that once this is over that, whomever the Mastermind is, they’ll let her perform Ouma’s execution herself. Harukawa has never been the type to take slights against her without getting revenge.

First, though, she needs to make sure everyone knows just how suspicious everyone  _but_ her is.

Harukawa latches onto Hoshi’s idea without hesitation. “That’s true.” She agrees with a glare in Ouma’s direction. ““Supreme Leader” sounds like something that a delusional kid would come up with, not an official Super High School Level. I have to deal with brats like that all the time.” Harukawa adds, her own fake talent coming to mind.

It  _was_ strange just how ridiculous Ouma’s talent was, now that she thought about it. Maybe Harukawa wasn’t the only one who didn’t want people to know who she reallywas.

“That might be true, but Ouma-kun _was_ the one who asked about it. It wouldn't make sense for him to out himself like that.” Akamatsu reasons.

“Maybe the menace just doesn't care if we know or not.” Chabashira suggests; Yumeno hums something that might be agreement or might be a yawn, but the other girl lights up all the same.

“I don't think pointing fingers at people will get us anywhere. We need to think about this.” Amami interrupts. “Hoshi was right earlier. If Monokuma decided to answer Ouma’s question, then it has to relate to Saihara's murder.”

Iruma slams her fist onto her lectern. “Bullshit! You just wanna get the heat off your back!”

“No, I think both Amami-kun and Hoshi-kun have a point. The culprit's realtalent is related to the case, somehow.” Akamatsu says. “We just need to figure out what it is and how.”

Harukawa raises an eyebrow, keeping a schooled expression. Half her attention is divided towards Ouma, but the brat hasn't moved to do anything more than tap at his handbook. She doesn’t trust it. “So, what? You're suggesting we just guess?”

Akamatsu looks down. “I don't think we have much else we  _can_ do at this point.”

“Shit, uh. Maybe the talent has to do with killin’ people? Like a hitman?” Momota suggests. “That would make sense, right?”

Harukawa grinds her teeth, but stays silent.

Shirogane tilts her head, a finger to her chin. “Would anyone want to give a 'Super High School Level’ title to a murderer, though?” She asks.

“I can't imagine so.” Kiibo agrees.

In the right corner of Harukawa’s peripheral, Hoshi fiddles with his candy cigarette and frowns. He keeps his eyes to the ground.

“Whether that is accurate or not, I don't imagine that we can do much more than speculate for now.” Toujou reminds them. “Even if we were to somehow guess who's talent is false, there would be no way for us to confirm it.”

Ouma giggles.

It's loud and high-pitched, and everyone starts at the suddenness of it. Akamatsu stares at him in a startled sort of shock, before her expression morphs into an exhausted frown.

“Ouma-kun,  _please_.” She repeats, voice just on the edge of begging for his cooperation.

He looks up, the childish innocence back. “What is it?” Ouma's fingers continue to poke mindlessly at his Student Handbook, undeterred by the lack of eye contact with the screen.

“The fuck are you doing now?” Momota scowls at him, and Harukawa shares the sentiment.

“Oh, this?” Ouma blinks down to the tablet, then grins. “Don't worry about it, Momota-chan! This is a little out of your league, and I’d hate for you to embarrass yourself in front of everyone.”

“What's  _that_ supposed'ta mean!” Momota shouts.

Amami shoots him a look, but this time Momota doesn’t stand down. Amami frowns. “Stop it, Ouma. Don't provoke him.”

“Provoke? I'm not provoking anyone!” Ouma defends. He turns back to the Student Handbook, uninterested once again, and flaps a flippant hand to the group. “I'm just trying to warn him. Momota-chan has an image to keep and it's a  _lot_ smarter than he actually is.” Ouma explains. “He’s pretty dumb when you get down to it.  _Very_ predictable.”

It isn’t until Momota snarls in frustration and pushes himself away from his stand that Harukawa realizes just what Ouma’s plan was.

The words  **SHSL ASSASSIN**  flash behind her eyes and, this time, Harukawa does scream.

Harukawa throws herself from her own stand to catch him, while Gokuhara does the same. She grabs for Momota’s stupid jacket to hold him back before the idiot can  _fall for it_ , but the purple fabric slips through her fingers before she can get a good grip.

“I’ll show you  _predictable_ , bastard!”

“Hold on—”

“Wait Momota-kun,  _don’t_ —”

It's over. She's over.

All because of Ouma Kokichi. She's been caught.

Dammit.  _Goddamnit_.

Momota manages to deck Ouma hard enough to send him straight to the floor before Gokuhara even  _reaches_ them, and he stamps on the other boy’s chest to hold him down so he can grab at the Student Handbook. Ouma, for his part, doesn’t fight back. He wails instead, a high and wounded sound like an animal might make. Ouma curls in on himself and the handbook as Momota lunges for the device, and Harukawa can see the grin on his face even between the bars of the lecturns.

“Momota-kun, please! A real gentleman would never attack his friends!” Gokuhara lifts him off the ground without even an ounce of effort, holding him at arm’s length as he fights to get down. He steps back from Ouma in an obvious attempt to separate them before anything more can happen, but Momota doesn’t go without a struggle. “Please stop!”

Momota scrambles against Gokuhara’s grip. “Well then it’s a good fuckin’ thing that he isn’t my friend! Put me down, dammit!”

“Uaahhhh!” Ouma cries. “Momota-chan hit me!”

Akamatsu and Toujou seemed spurred into action at that, and both make their way towards where Ouma is still spread out on the floor. Amami jogs over to where Gokuhara has managed to hold Momota still to help calm him down in the meantime. The rest of the group keeps silent with a sort of uncertain anticipation at the sudden violence, with Ouma’s tearful whines and Momota’s angry shouts filling the room.

“Oooh  _boy_.” Monokuma rubs his paws together, face tinted red. “It’s been awhile since we had a real rough and tumble throwdown in the courtroom! I almost forgot how exciting they can be!”

“W-Wha—?” Shirogane gasps. “ _Exciting_? That's not exciting at all! Ouma could be hurt!”

“I do believe he’ll be alright. It’s just a bruise, though expect it will start to swell soon. Momota-kun hit him rather hard.” Toujou announces and sends Momota a disapproving look. She helps Ouma to his feet. He’s crying and holding his cheek like it’s a mortal wound.

Harukawa can’t even find it in herself to be furious with him anymore. It's as if she's numb, disassociated from the entire situation. All traces of anger she'd felt before were gone, and she was left with an emptiness.

Is this... Is this what mourning feels like?

Akamatsu picks up the Student Handbook from where Ouma dropped it. “What were you even  _doing_ on this Ouma-kun? You made such a big deal about it, and you don’t have anything pulled up—” Akamatsu cuts herself off as she stares at the device. “Huh? I...I didn’t remember that it...” She trails off.

“What? What is it?” Iruma demands. “Don’t just say mysterious bullshit like that!”

Akamatsu pulls her eyes up from the handbook. “I know how we can find out who’s talent is fake.”

Monokuma laughs. “ _And_ who killed poor Saihara!” He adds.

The room goes still, even Momota’s rampant temper tantrum forgotten at their words. The rest of Harukawa’s classmates look at one another with the most hopeful expressions they’ve worn the entire trial, but she just feels tired.

This must be how Akamatsu felt — drained. Well. She supposes she’s going to die sometime in the next ten or so minutes and she supposes she deserves it for all that she’s done in her life, but Harukawa can’t help but feel like this wasn’t how it was meant to happen. There was never much for her in life except for murder, but there  _could’ve_  been.

Harukawa watches in blank silence as the rest of her classmates brandish their own Student Handbooks, talents written in bright bolded letters. Ouma grins at her as he flashes his own  **SHSL SUPREME LEADER**  to the room at large, his tears dried as fast as they'd fallen, and Harukawa thinks that her biggest regret in life might be that she wasn’t able to strangle the haughty bullshit out of him before she died. Their eyes turn to her last.

She doesn’t bother to move to get the damned tablet, and it seems like that’s enough for them. Monokuma said it himself. The killer is whoever lied about their talent.

The vote comes soon after that, surrounded by quiet murmurs and subtle glances that they seem to think she doesn’t notice. Harukawa has enough self-respect left to select herself.

It’s unanimous.

Harukawa looks over to the portrait of Saihara while the others chatter—it’s all meaningless conversation, just as meaningless as when she first met them in the auditorium—and frowns. He looks the same as he did in life, weak and scared and spineless. Half of Saihara’s expression is hidden under his cap, like he’s still afraid to face the world even after he’s left it, but he still has the smallest of smiles.

She wonders what her portrait will look like after she’s dead. It’ll probably be less frightened and more fierce; maybe Monokuma will even have her smiling in it too. It wouldn’t be accurate, but memoriam pictures were usually happy smiles. Harukawa’s been to enough funerals to know that much.

A hand touches her arm. Through the fog that’s swallowed her, a wavering voice breaks through. “Why?”

It takes a moment for it to set in that someone’s speaking to her, but she debates ignoring it so this entire joke can end and she can be anywhere else — Hell, her next life, maybe even the nothingness of the Void; she’s never been religious, but she's never been picky either. Harukawa looks at Akamatsu, looks at the tears that still run down the other girl’s face, and regrets the moment her mouth opens to answer.

“Why what?”

“Why  _him_.”

Harukawa looks around. All eyes are on them, the others silent in anticipation of her answer. She supposes she never did explain herself, but a part of her doesn’t want them to know. It’s not like she knows these people and, to them, she’s sure she’ll just be the second dead of many more deaths to come. Harukawa doesn’t owe them anything.

Still. She looks into pink orbs that had been so bright when they’d first spoken, so goddamn upbeat and full of happiness that Harukawa was sure she would crack as soon as Saihara was found with his large champagne eyes frozen to stare down an attacker that had long since left.

Akamatsu’s eyes are still bright but, even through the tears, the edges have hardened. She thinks of her own hardened eyes in the mirror.

“It was the obvious choice.”

Akamatsu stares, hands twitching like she doesn’t know what to do with them. “B-But, what does that—”

Monokuma’s gavel bangs, followed by a round of sharp laughter. “I just can’t wait any longer! We’re done with all this mushy post-trial garbage!” He announces and hops up to stand on his throne.

Momota glares. “Hold the fuck on! Akamatsu didn’t even get to finish her—”

“Tsk tsk. Kids these days.” Monokuma shakes his head. “Time waits for no bear, and it  _especially_ waits for no girl! We’ve got an execution to get to!”

Harukawa swipes Akamatsu’s hand from her shoulder and steps away from the other girl before she can reach for her again. She turns to the throne, watching a bright red button rise from the ground in front of the bear while he twirled his gavel. From the corner of her vision she catches Ouma, just as stone-faced as she is.

Harukawa hopes that he’s the next to go, hopes that it’s slow and painful and that—whether it’s in Hell, or their next life, or even the goddamn Void—she’ll be able to get her hands on him.

After all, she isn’t the type to take slights against her without revenge.

“I’ve prepared a  _veeeeery_ special punishment for Harukawa Maki, the Super High School Level Assassin!”

Harukawa feels the chain grab her before she hears it, and the last sight she sees of the people who sent her to her deserved death is horrified understanding written across their faces.

 

 

It’s knives and guns and poisoned arrow bolts, and it hurts it hurts it hurts it

**_H_ **

**_u_ **

**_r_ **

**_t_ **

**_s_ **

Then it’s all over and Harukawa Maki is dead.

 

* * *

 

Harukawa Maki—the deceased murderer of Saihara Shuuichi—wakes up, curled in an uncomfortable wooden chair behind an old-fashioned school desk. She's stiff and sore, and across the—

She’s sprinted across the room before it’s even fully registered, the same anger that had fueled her through the trial rejuvenated at just the  _sight_ of him.

Ouma isn’t able to wake up fast enough before she’s wrestled him out of his desk and onto the floor, hands tight around his neck. Panicked, he scrabbles to pull her off, kicking and clawing the best he can while her knees dig  _hard_ into his chest. There’s no recognition in his face as he chokes and sputters in desperation—just the same instinctual terror that Harukawa sees on all the marks she has to finish up close—and that just makes her squeeze all the more.

How  _dare_  he. How  ** _dare_**  he get her killed with his bullshit games, then  _not even remember who she is_.

A chair clatters to the ground beside her as Ouma knocks it over with his final attempt to buck her off, and he goes still just moments after.

Harukawa leans off of his chest, breathing thick and hands tingling for more. She grinds her teeth together and steadies her breath until she's at a far calmer pace, smooth and regular, in and out. The adrenaline starts to fade. She shakes out her stiff hands, studies Ouma's pallor face. His eyes didn't close, now just wide and listless as he stared at nothingness. Harukawa thinks that if Saihara’s eyes had looked better in death, Ouma’s look worse. The purple is almost a faded black without light behind them, an ugly color just like the rest of him.

She sits back against his stilled torso and contemplates closing them herself, just to get the black irises off of her. He doesn't deserve to look at her, not even post-mortem.

The door is thrown open.

“We heard strange noises as we passed, is everyone al—”

A shriek of horror interrupts Toujou’s calm but urgent voice, and Harukawa turns to see Toujou and Shirogane crowded in the doorway of the room. Toujou examines the scene with the most surprised expression that Harukawa has ever seen on her, while Shirogane is visibly shaking, as if she’ll faint if she gets any closer.

“I-Is he...” Shirogane whispers, reaching up to hug herself.

Harukawa doesn’t respond, just narrows her eyes at them and steps off the corpse.

That seems to be more than enough confirmation for the cosplayer, and she shakily stumbles out of the doorway and further down the hall. Toujou doesn’t move from her own spot, and takes in the room with enough careful consideration to show that she wasn’t sure whether Harukawa’s bloodlust had been expended yet on just Ouma or if she’ll decide to go for more.

The room quakes before Harukawa can decide which it is, giant steps that shake the building’s foundations thundering towards the classroom. Toujou watches whatever is coming towards them with a tight expression and hurries into the room just as the red-plated Exisal bursts through the doorway with Monokuma perched on one of its shoulders. Harukawa whips out her knife on instinct and falls into a defensive crouch; Toujou flattens herself against a wall, out of the machine's immediate reach.

“The  _one time_ I get someone all riled and ready for my fun murder game and she jumps the gun!” Monokuma complains, stamping his paws on the metal armor of the giant robot’s shoulder. “How unfair is that!”

“ _ **S**_ ** _o unfair, Daddy!_** ” The other bear inside the mech echoes.

“For your fun...murder game?” Toujou repeats, expression carefully schooled. Her gloved hands twitch. “And just who might you be?”

Harukawa attention jolts to Toujou at that, the rest of Monokuma’s rant half-forgotten and half-ignored. Out of the rest of her so called “classmates” Toujou had been one of the ones that Harukawa respected the most — she had a calm head on her shoulders and wasn’t nearly as outright idiotic as most of the others could be. It wouldn’t make sense for someone like her to just... _forget_ about the Killing School Life, or about Monokuma, for that matter.

No, that...that wasn’t right. There was something about this entire situation that wasn’t right.

She hadn’t visited this classroom since she’d first woken up in Saishu Gakuen. She... She’d been executed after Saihara’s murder. She was dead.

Or supposed to be.

Harukawa doesn’t realize that she’s slumped out of her defensive stance until a loud mechanical  _click_ pointed in her direction. She’s staring straight into the barrel of the Exisal’s submachine gun with nothing but a hunting knife to defend herself.  _Dammit_.

From across the room, Toujou is deathly pale and deathly silent. Harukawa flicks her eyes back to the giant hulk of metal between her and the door, and knows that she won’t be able to avoid the gun’s fire in time if it shoots. The classroom was too cluttered by the sheer amount of desks, and Ouma’s wretched corpse is still at her ankles where she’d left him.

The only bright side to the situation is that if Harukawa’s going to be ripped to shreds with bullets, so will he.

“Really, I would’ve loved to keep such a fun plot-twist around! I mean, the Super High School Level Caretaker was really the Super High School Level _Assassin_ the entire time? What a reveal  _that_ would’ve been!” Monokuma continues. “Too bad you broke the rules.”

Harukawa adjusts her legs back into their original crouched position, coiled low to the floor for nothing else if not her pride. She levels her knife at the robot and grits to teeth. It wouldn’t help to piss off the damned bear that wanted her dead— _again_ —but it wasn’t like it would hurt much either. Harukawa is dead no matter what she does.

“I didn’t break any rules. This entire hellscape is meant to  _encourage_ murder.” Harukawa grinds out.

Monokuma shrugs. “Well, maybe. But because the Killing School Life hasn’t started yet, no one can say it was for the sake of the game! You just went and killed someone for no reason!” He says. “And that sounds  _preeeeetty_ illegal to me!”

“ _ **Do**_ ** _you want me to shoot her now, Daddy?_** ” The second bear inside the Exisal asks, an eager bounce to his voice. “ ** _Just say the word and I’ll shoot!_** ”

“Isn’t that somewhat of an extreme reaction?” Toujou interjects, and Harukawa’s attention almost shifts to the other girl on instinct before she reminds herself to keep eyes on the Exisal instead. Still, if it weren’t for the slight quiver in her voice on “reaction” Harukawa would’ve believed she was a calm as she sounded.

Monokuma claps his paws together. “Of course it isn’t! The murderer’s execution is one of the best parts! For example...”

He points at her and the bullets tear through Harukawa far faster than her execution ever could.

 

* * *

 

Harukawa Maki—the deceased murderer of Saihara Shuuichi—no, the deceased murder of Ouma Kokichi—no—the deceased murderer of—

Harukawa Maki stares at the same classroom walls for a third time and screams in anger.

**Author's Note:**

> No joke, I wrote the bulk of this while on a Roadtrip From Hell (aka, Florida) with the sole purpose of distracting myself for a good few hours and satisfying the itch to write a time loop that I've always had. I don't have much planned past what happens in Loop 1 and Loop 2 — otherwise known as this entire chapter — so I'm not completely sure if I'll continue past here. Maybe if enough people seem interested? I guess we'll just have to see.


End file.
